


peace talks

by serenfire



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: F/F, Garona is my lesbian child, Politics, Post Movie, Royal Wedding, Spoilers for the entire movie!!, she is So Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenfire/pseuds/serenfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Garona stays true to her word and attempts to make peace between the Alliance and the Horde with Lady Taria. </p><p>The result is different than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	peace talks

**Author's Note:**

> So the last time I played WoW was seven years ago and I remember no lore whatsoever. I've spent about an hour on the wikia so I know everybody's name! Woohoo me! So yeah, this is me with no knowledge of Warcraft whatsoever aside from the movie (which I have watched twice).
> 
> @those people who know who I am irl, do not read this thanks. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The peace talks start a month after Llane’s death. Lothar is still too emotionally impacted by the death to even attempt diplomacy, so Taria takes one look at him and tells him to spend a week at Ironforge. 

“Stare into the fires and sort out your emotions,” she commands. 

“But she _killed_ him,” Lothar says, sitting at his table, hands curled around a pint of the strongest liquor available. “And you are trying to make _peace_ with her.” 

“I will _not_ let Llane’s legacy be an unending war between our races,” Taria says as she pulls the pint from his hands and empties it in the fire. “So leave before she gets here.” 

* 

Garona arrives at Stormwind with her escorts, who carry visible weapons onto the civilian streets, and the Alliance’s best escort them, mages’ attention trained on them to make sure they don’t snap and start killing humans. 

Like Garona did when she killed Llane. 

When she sits across the empty council table from Taria, dressed in what Taria guesses is the noblest orc attire available, Garona’s hands are shaking. She hides them well behind her rather impressive sword belted to her waist, but still. Taria has been in the game of politics since before Garona could even imagine that one day she would lead the Horde. She can _tell_. 

“Remind me why you got to choose the venue,” Garona says, looking at Stormwind’s finery. The last time she was here, she breathlessly soaked in all the gold and jewels, pledging her allegiance to the Alliance, but this time she ignores it all. 

_She made her choice_ . Lothar’s words, mumbled in the middle of drunken stupors for the entirety of the last month, echo in her head. 

“Because the last orc-human diplomatic meeting didn’t quite go as planned, so I decided that we might meet in a place without spies for Gul’dan.” 

“Spies,” Garona scoffs. “Spies are the least of my worries, and should be the least of yours. I could run my blade straight through you, and become doubly the hero among my people.” 

Taria looks away. By the great door, her guards tighten their hands on their weapons. “So you really did kill him,” she says. 

Garona flicks her gaze to her orc bodyguards and back. “I did.” 

“Well then,” Taria twists her mouth into a cruel smile, her emotions unstirred, “what a great start to our peace discussion.” 

She was born into politics, into nobility. She can debate with a traitor and not flinch a single muscle. 

* 

“The only reason the orcs agreed to your peace meetings is because there have been too many deaths of our people,” Garona tells her. “I cannot promise anything longer than a decade, maybe even that. Once our children rise up and become part of our clans, I cannot promise that they will feel the same amiability toward humans as we do.” 

“As long as the Fel is gone forever, we will make a path to coexistence,” Taria says. Someone who says what they are really thinking, doesn’t sugarcoat the harsh truth of their culture differences, is refreshing from the vague lies of the High Elves and the brash hatred of the Dwarves. 

Garona purses her lips. “Maybe.” 

* 

They have been talking for nearly ten hours, and Taria’s eyes swim as she looks at the constantly rearranging map of the lands. Red and blue pins mesh together under her exhaustion as Garona argues for control of the plains. 

Even the orc guards are getting restless, their war-hungry blood aching for conflict. So Taria offers them the best she can, as Queen of Azeroth. 

She turns to Garona. “Do you wish to dine with me?” 

Garona hesitates. “Where will my guards eat?” 

“With mine, of course. _Not_ in the great hall.” 

During the meal, Taria and Garona are left alone in the hall, as Taria shoos her best knights outside the doors. 

As soon as there is no one else in the room, Garona stops looking pent-up and anxious and _in control_ and immediately says, “I only killed King Llane because he asked me to. To stop Blackhand from killing him and becoming a hero.” 

Taria chews in silence. 

“No one else knows this,” Garona continues, “and I know you have no reason to believe me! Except I only used the dagger you gave me because I _wanted you all_ to know.” 

“And now you have an Azeroth sword on your person, taken from one of my dead knights,” Taria points out. 

“Repurposed,” Garona corrects, unbuckling the sword and sheath and laying it on the table next to the food she hasn’t touched. “I did not kill any one of your soldiers. But King Llane—he wanted me to become a hero, to bring peace. That’s the only reason I am here right now, because his death has allowed me to replace Gul’dan’s place in the Horde. Now that I am the greatest hero that has lived, I can convince them that war is not always the answer.” 

“It seems like you want me to say something,” Taria notes. She’s still eating her food calmly, controlled, nervous tensions running deep beneath her skin, too deep to be seen from the outside. 

“Forgive me. I have to know that—you value his sacrifice for this cause, that you will fight as much as I did to get it.” 

“I will,” Taria promises. “I _promise_.” 

* 

“Should we designate some of the previously ransacked villages to house both orcs and humans?” Garona asks, staring at the blue and red pins stuck on the hexagonal map of Azeroth. 

“Will you be able to convince any of your people who are not warriors to actually live side by side with humans?” 

“They will follow me,” Garona nods, so sure of herself, and Taria accepts the absolute power that is placed in her, of the unwavering trust her own kind puts in her. “The question is, will your humans?” 

“There are many orc sympathizers among us,” Taria waves. “And those who hate the Wrynn rule more than anything. They will go.” 

* 

“How does the succession of your position work?” Taria asks, over tea and coffee. 

“I don’t know,” Garona shrugs. “Gul’dan was the only one to hold this position before me. He united the clans into the Horde. After the war, most of the chieftains are dead. The ones that were left saw my prowess and gave me the role.” She gestures to the strips of red cloth over her like a shawl. “This belonged to Gul’dan.” 

“My successor will be my child, or closest living relative” Taria says. “After I die, Varian will become king.” 

“But what if he is a terrible warrior, or can’t make the decisions needed of a leader?” Garona frowns. “What happens to Stormwind then?” 

“We train our royalty as best we can for their roles in life,” Taria shrugs. “If they aren’t ready, then no one will be.” 

Garona scowls. “My successor will be the one who is the next hero after me, I guess. I do not plan on having children—or a mate.” 

“Really? Isn’t that an orc custom?” 

“I am half-draenei,” Garona smiles. “That works as a loophole for cultural customs. Besides, I don’t want—” she hesitates “a _male_ mate.” 

“Oh,” Taria says. “Are other mates frowned upon in orc society?” 

“The primary purpose to mates is to produce an heir, but it’s not exactly taboo. Just nonexistent.” 

Taria nods, lost in thought. 

* 

It takes five days before the orcs accompanying Garona fight with the Stormwind knights, and in the resulting chaos several civilians are wounded and the orcs are stripped of their weapons and jailed. 

Garona storms in the throne room. “You can’t do this,” she spits, interrupting a High Elf representative. 

“They broke our laws,” Taria explains, calm as ever while the High Elf representative visibly draws back. 

“But they didn’t break any of _our_ laws,” Garona says. “They were honorable.” 

“In how they tried to fight a baker, yes. That’s illegal.” 

“Peace between us isn’t going to work!” Garona blurts. “We can give and take land all we want, we can attempt to meet people of the other race, but we are _fundamentally different_ and we cannot assimilate in a week. We don’t _want_ to.” 

“What would change that?” Taria spits back. “If we were one and the same? If we were connected somehow?” 

“If we saw you as we do other orcs, warrior or not, then the culture difference would be as it is between clans: there, but unproblematic. You are humans, who we have both fought _with_ and _against_ in the past. You are so unlike us.” 

The High Elf representative says, “I guess I’ll be back later, Your Highness,” and then runs out the door. 

“So none of this will work unless I am as orc as you are,” Taria states, “and your are as human as I am.” 

“Yes,” Garona relents. “But unless your new Guardian has a way of changing people’s skin color, that is impossible.” 

Taria purses her lips. “Actually, I might have just the solution. But only if you’re comfortable with attaining a new mate.” 

“I told you,” Garona frowns, “I don’t want a male mate.” 

“No,” Taria assures, “definitely not a _male_ mate.” 

* 

Lothar comes back to Stormwind, in better spirits than he’s been since the Dark Portal opened. The forgers worked on his boomstick prototype, and now he can shoot and hit a target at thirty paces when sober. 

He flies back to Stormwind, and watches the white city flow by underneath his feet, the bird landing on the front lawn of the castle. An attendant rushes out to meet him and tether the bird. 

“Are you here for the royal wedding, Lord Lothar?” she asks. 

“Wedding?” Lothar blinks. “ _What_ wedding?” 

“The wedding between your sister and Garona Halforcen, Chieftan of the Horde,” the attendant says, like it’s obvious. 

Lothar blinks. “The _what_ now.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to hmu at my [tumblr](http://www.trans-reyskywalker.tumblr.com) feel free!


End file.
